Martha, don't fail me now

In light of the Securities and Exchange Commission's investigation of Martha Stewart, I'm questioning the color of my kitchen counters again.

Only recently had I stopped apologizing for their muted green, a sage about to come out as an Easter pastel.

In the first year after moving into our house, I had worried that friends might think I had chosen the color. I'd also worried that, left to my own devices, I very well might have. But then Martha arrived by mail. Every issue of her catalog brought comfort. Martha shared my pain, and therein lay her strength, for the green I inherited was Martha's signature green, the green of her icing, her glassware, her shelf-liner paper and her satin ribbons.

Soon my sister-in-law had ordered me a graduated set of three pots to extend the green into my living room. Coordinating place mats from my mom graced my dining room. I had nothing to apologize about; I had a theme, a touch of class, I had Martha.

In addition to my new identity, I've enjoyed the tongue-in-cheek humor I find in the catalogs. My young daughter and I have eaten many a meal hunched elbow to elbow at the counter, Martha by Mail spread open above our plates. We take turns choosing our favorite cookies from among the parade of zoo animals that march around the tiers of Martha's milk-glass cake stands and the galaxy of golden stars and silver moons that sparkle on her buffet tables. The offer of a $49 cookie decor set only enhances the fantasy.

Her catalogs never fail to inspire. Seeing her woven and lined ash laundry hamper, I itch to fold T-shirts. Her collection of wooden household brushes reminds me of the simple circular pleasure to be found in a clean toilet bowl. The elegance of the catalog's photos encourages me to eliminate clutter before ordering more.

For further enlightenment, I occasionally purchase a copy of Martha Stewart Living. I only have to open it to be reminded to do things in a big way. Take that abbreviated calendar she prints at the front of each issue - a true stroke of genius guaranteed to elicit our derision and to set us talking about Her. I've yet to read quietly through to myself a day of "gather fall leaves with Alexis," "interview for 'Today Show,' " and "prep soup supper for 16." I snort at my coffee cup if no one else is around.

Martha makes me funnier. I crack myself up informing my neighbor that I not only planted my bulbs, but I also ground up fresh Pacific salmon for fertilizer, wove a willow branch fence for the flower bed and stamped my own plant markers out of Mexican tin. Not to be outdone, she reports how much she enjoyed the pancakes she made from organic buckwheat ground on the mini-mill she had fashioned just the night before.

Because of Martha, I even admitted to shopping at Kmart. In the heyday of Williams- Sonoma, Crate & Barrel and Pottery Barn, who but Martha would make her stand at the big red and blue - soon, reportedly, to become the big green and blue. I love my colander and my glass salt and pepper shakers. They - didn't cost a fortune, and I -didn't have to rely on my own judgment. "America's most trusted guide to stylish living" chose them for me.

Martha, I hope everything is on the up and up and that you -weren't in too tight with Rascal Waksal. Yes, I snickered, but the jokes were as much at my own expense as at yours. I admired from afar your business sense and your in- their-face determination. I'd been looking forward to the debut of your new line of furniture. I took your side against my husband when the allegations first surfaced. Who -doesn't talk stocks with trusted friends nowadays? Would I have known what tidbits I could act on and which I legally -couldn't? But then, I -didn't work as a stockbroker after putting myself through college doing modeling stints. Nor, for that matter, did I do any modeling.